


Combat Readiness

by ElDiablito_SF, hallaburger



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Dwight deserves to be loved, Explicit Sexual Content, Florence Nightingale Syndrome, M/M, Pre-Series, Ross is a Beast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallaburger/pseuds/hallaburger
Summary: In America, Dwight does his best to save Ross' face from grave injury.  Who would have expected them to enjoy playing doctor/patient so much?  (Well, we did)





	

**Author's Note:**

> When the only two people in fandom who ship the Thing start talking to each other and then decide to do the Thing. This fandom needs more slash!

Dwight had performed an amputation, an extraction of a foreign object, and sewn someone’s guts back into their abdomen (and god have mercy on them all). But _this_ , he thought as his hand trembled for the first time that day, oh _this_ was the most delicate, most important thing he’d ever likely do in his entire life. Fixing Ross Poldark’s face. Gently, Dwight put in another stitch. The man beneath him was strapped to the table, insensate, and covered in his own blood. Still, he had been breathing. _Breathe_ , Dwight reminded himself as he dabbed the stitches with a hot towel. He would have to make a poultice to stave off infection. Great lord, the cut had cut so close to the eye, the smallest mistake and… No! He couldn’t even think of it. Ross Poldark was far too beautiful to lose an eye! Or die, for that matter. God wouldn’t allow it. Bad enough that the cut was deep, and even the most skilled surgeon wouldn’t be able to knit that skin together seamlessly. Perhaps Ross Poldark had been too proud, and it warranted a blow to his vanity.

Dwight flushed furiously and his hand shook again, forcing him to set the suturing aside. This was pure hubris, and something else too, something he wasn’t too keen to put a name to, not yet. 

A soft groan escaped Ross’ lips. _Don’t wake_ , Dwight thought, finger pressed against the curve of that lush mouth of his own volition, as he picked up his work again. He leaned in close, his brow and his lips set in a firm line as he passed the needle through skin again, making another stitch. 

Under his poised elbow, Ross stirred again. His parched lips flew open, hot breath scalding against Dwight’s wrist.

“Elizabeth…” 

Elizabeth. Of course. Dwight swallowed around a ball of bitterness that had somehow become lodged in his craw. 

“Don’t open your eyes,” he whispered, the hot towel pressing over Ross’ lids. Don’t open. Don’t look. Don’t see me. _Christ_ , but this was unbearable! Dwight’s heart was in his throat, and he tried swallowing around it. “I need you not to move,” he said with a little more conviction. He was a damn doctor, after all. Ross’ eyebrows tightened as he let out another groan. “That counts as moving.” Dwight glanced around him, careful not to tug on the needle and thread in his hand. There, just out of reach against the fabric wall of the tent, was a dark glass bottle. Dwight grimaced; he could let go of the needle to move for the bottle, and risk the oaf on the table rolling over onto it, or he could keep holding the needle and press his luck reaching. With a tight-lipped sigh of annoyance, he let go of the needle and quickly turned to snatch the bottle off the ground. 

Perhaps his fears were a little unfounded. Ross hadn’t moved, save for groaning again. 

“I can’t see,” he emitted, his tongue sneaking out to lick at his desiccated lips.

“Well, fortunately, only one of us needs to have the benefit of vision in this scenario,” Dwight retorted, with a lot more bravado than he currently felt, and then took a reinforcing swig from the bottle he had fought so hard to procure.

“Doctor Enys?”

“Captain Poldark.”

Dwight really needed to get a grip. The booze was not for him, he remembered. He tucked an arm under Ross’ head, moving him only as much as necessary. “Here, drink,” he instructed, tipping the bottle against Ross’ lips. “It’ll help you relax.” 

Ross coughed a little, the angle not the best for getting drink down one’s throat, but he managed a few swallows before Dwight laid his head down again. “Captain?” 

Dwight nodded, taking up the needle. When Ross had been brought in, the colonel told Dwight that he had recently been promoted. That he had been promoted for acts of bravery, said bravery having been the cause of the wounds the man currently found himself in possession of. That if he let this man die, he was killing a Captain of His Royal Majesty’s Army. With one look at him, Dwight had feared that such a thing was possible, but after cleaning him up a little and setting to work, he realized that though his face may have been in danger, his life wasn’t. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Congratulations.”

“I…”

“Don’t speak.”

Chatback during surgery was unbearable, especially if the patient was as important as the man currently strapped to Dwight’s table. 

“Dwight…”

Perhaps the blow had also affected Ross’ hearing. Dwight leaned over and gently moved his patient to see whether there was any bleeding visible from the eardrum. That was when he felt Ross’ hand on him. A gentle, uncertain touch, requiring reassurance.

Biting his own lip, Dwight squeezed Ross’ hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix you. I promise.” The fingers inside his grip squeezed back, and for the rest of the procedure, Ross remained blessedly silent.

***

They moved Ross to an adjacent tent for his convalescence, and Dwight had made a valiant effort not to check on him twice every hour. Luckily, there had been a steady stream of new patients that had kept him busy and focused, but when they’d all been moved for recuperation or burial, his mind had wandered back to Ross. He washed his hands and arms in the basin, he’d cleaned his face and traded his bloodied shirt for a clean one, and as the sun set, he made his way back to the tent. 

“They’ll be sending me home,” Ross said the moment Dwight was through the flap. Dwight could hardly stifle the laugh that got pulled out of his chest. 

“And why is that?”

Ross sighed, and as Dwight approached, he stared demonstratively up at the canvass roof of the tent. “I’m no use to them now. I’ve been injured, I have to convalesce.” 

Dwight clucked his tongue. “Do you have other injuries that I’m not aware of?” he asked, attempting to keep his tone light. “I admit, when I was working on you, I concentrated on your face, but if…” He stopped speaking, lest he should reveal too much. “I mean, I concentrated on stitching up your face.” 

“And you did it admirably,” Ross replied with another grandiose sigh. “Though I cannot fathom how Elizabeth will behold me this way. I know her love to be true and steadfast, and yet, now I am hideous.”

“Hideous?” Dwight drew back. “What a way to recompense me for my handywork!”

“Admit it, Doctor, you are biased.” Dwight nearly tripped and fell down, his face turning so crimson that anyone observing may have thought he’d caught a case of the scarlet fever. “I mean, because you were the one who stitched me up. Surely, you’re not going to tell me I look like a monster after the hours you spent rearranging this physiognomy back into place.”

“Jesus, Ross, are you really so vain or has the blow to your face rid you of all your senses?”

“Next, you will tell me I’m so much more than a pretty face.”

“All right, now you’re just taking the piss. Admit it.”

“A bit,” Ross shrugged. 

“Well surely the army has no prerequisite for looks,” Dwight commented. “You’ve seen the Major, after all.” Ross laughed, then winced. Clearly the wound was still bothering him. “Besides,” Dwight went on, trying to cover up a sudden nervousness that rose up in his belly, “you were never really that attractive to begin with.”

“Beauty, my dear Enys, is entirely in the eye of the beholder,” Ross retorted with another one of his infectious smiles.

“Entirely, my dear Poldark,” Dwight beamed and shifted his hat to cover up the front of his breeches. This conversation was rapidly having a very undesirable effect. “Well then, if you do not require any further doctoring…” he muttered, attempting to quickly back out of the tent.

Ross cleared his throat, reaching after him. “Actually--”

Dwight stopped, turning to look over his shoulder. He raised a fair eyebrow at his patient. “Something the matter?”

“Yes… um… a pain,” Ross stated, keeping his eyes carefully lowered.

Yes, quite, Dwight thought. He too had a pain. A great, hulking, curly-haired pain in his arse. Still, he was a doctor, and the hippocratic oath demanded that he attend to his patient’s needs, no matter how ridiculous.

“What kind of pain?” he asked, cautiously.

“It’s in my shoulder. I think I may have been grazed there,” Ross replied, trying to sit up. 

Dwight hurried over, dropping to his knees beside the cot. “Well let me help you, at least. May I remove your shirt?” he asked, his throat getting caught halfway through _remove_.

Ross nodded, his unkempt hair falling into his eyes. He lifted his arms up with surprising meekness, allowing Dwight to divest him of his shirt, taking care not to catch the fabric on the sutures. Ever one to be tidy, Dwight folded the shirt before laying it aside. 

Then, he cautiously took in the sight presented to him. Ross Poldark, curse him, was built like a statue of a Grecian god.

“Which shoulder?” Dwight asked, throat as parched as the desert.

“The left,” Ross said, pointing towards the right. But before Dwight could further question him, Ross’ hand landed on his shoulder. “You know something? It’s a good thing nothing happened to _your_ face, doctor. I must say, it is a very good face.”

Dwight’s eyebrow went up again, this time higher than before. “Have you been drinking, Captain?”

“Not since the time you had me strapped to your table, doctor.”

Dwight felt blood pooling in his groin. Oh no. Oh God. Thinking back on the visual thrust it into a completely different light. In the moment, of course, Dwight had been focused on repairing the damage done by the bloody patriots. Now, remembering that image, Dwight realized how truly at his mercy Ross had been. How open and vulnerable. How… 

No, he would _not_ say beautiful. He would not think it. 

He was supposed to be examining Ross’ shoulder, damn it! Which one was it again?

“Let me see,” he said, reaching out with trembling fingertips to touch Ross’ spine. Ross turned at the waist, granting Dwight access to his left shoulder. Left, that was it. Well, it wasn’t a serious injury, but a dark purple bruise bloomed there. He had likely landed on something when he was knocked out. “You weren’t shot, I can tell you that. Looks like you have a nasty bruise, though.”

“It also hurts here,” Ross added quickly, looking further down his body.

“Where?” Dwight thought he might be actually going insane.

“Right _here_ ,” Ross picked up Dwight’s hand and pressed it into the outline of his lower abs. Through the fine layer of soft hair there, Dwight’s fingers twitched from the heat of Ross’ skin. “It hurts if you press into it,” Ross whispered, his face mere inches away from Dwight’s, as he pushed the doctor’s hand harder against his own flesh, to demonstrate his point.

“Then, don’t press into it,” Dwight muttered. His blood appeared uncertain which one of his extremities to rush to. He felt as if his entire face and neck were consumed with an everlasting, burning fire.

“Is that what you want, Dwight?” Ross whispered, his other hand gently brushing against Dwight’s chin, his thumb lingering over Dwight’s lower lip. “You want me not to press it?”

Dwight could feel himself getting lightheaded and remembered to breathe. He wanted nothing more than to lean forward just enough to take that thumb into his mouth, to feel it against his tongue, to taste the salt there. He’d been staring at Ross this whole time, he needed to do something, he needed to _say_ something--

“Doctor Enys?” 

The voice outside the tent made him nearly jump out of his skin. Gasping, he pulled away from Ross to stand and straighten his shirt just in time for the colonel to poke his head in. He stood at attention, willing the flush in his cheeks and neck to fade. 

“Yes, Colonel, is there something I can help you with?” he replied, surprised at how collected his voice sounded. 

“The raiding party has just returned, and with a few minor casualties. We need them patched up if you’re quite finished checking in on Captain Poldark,” the colonel said.

Dwight could have sworn he saw a devilish glint in Ross’ eye. “All seems to be in order here,” Dwight said, looking away. “I shall be along presently.”

***

Ross’ stitches were healing nicely over the following week, and as he no longer had persistent headaches, Dwight had cleared him for duty, as long as he didn’t overexert himself and got enough sleep at night. Of course, Ross was pushing these limitations as much as he possibly could, and it was driving Dwight quite insane. For one thing, Ross had already gone down to the stream that passed not far from camp to wash. When he came back, looking radiantly fresh-faced, Dwight was pleased to find him in such good spirits. At least until he heard where he’d been.

“Ross, you could have been seen! They could have shot you,” Dwight wheezed while Ross laid out his newly-clean shirt and trousers to dry. 

“Well thank the blessed Lord they didn’t,” Ross replied, nonplussed. “As you can see, I am still here and intact.”

Dwight gritted his teeth until they ached. He was beginning to have serious reservations about allowing Ross such free rein. The blow to his head must have impaired his judgment. Although, to be fair, judgment and self-restraint were never Poldark’s forte, come to think of it, it was how he had ended up getting conscripted in the first place. “Captain Poldark, you are being very careless indeed with my needlework.”

“There are more examples than this,” Ross replied with a shrug. 

Dwight closed the gap between them in a stride. “But none are so dear to me.”

Ross blinked at him, openmouthed. For a moment, he looked dumbfounded. Dwight could hardly believe he’d rendered the sharp-tongued captain suddenly bereft of words. And then he realized what he’d just said. “Forgive me, that was horribly out of turn.”

“We should go for a drink,” Ross said before Dwight had even finished stammering out his awkward apology. 

“Pardon?”

“We should find some place to go. Just you and I. Where we can talk.”

Dwight’s stomach flipped. “Where are we going to go? It isn’t as though we can just walk into the nearest town and ask for a room in their tavern.”

Ross sighed. “Well we can’t bloody talk here, either. We need somewhere private.” 

“Captain Poldark, are you planning on seducing me?” Dwight asked, feeling his face heat.

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

Dwight grew even more feverish. His eyes were everywhere except on Ross. His hands fidgeted. 

“I owe you a great debt of gratitude,” Ross continued. “I am not a man who does not repay his debts.”

“It is not a debt that needs repaying,” Dwight stuttered, talking so quickly that words came out of his mouth before his thoughts could properly form. “I was only doing my work. One might even say, to repair your face is to be doing God’s work. And God’s work is hardly the kind of thing that requires recompense!” His voice became more shrill with each uttered word.

“Dwight…”

“What?!” he squealed helplessly.

“Do you remember what you said to me? When you were stitching up my face?” Helplessly, Dwight shook his head. “Don’t speak.” Ross smiled.

Dwight’s codfish mouth closed and his heart stammered as Ross reached forward to touch his cheek. Dwight’s hands shook. His eyes shut tight as Ross leaned forward, and before he could think, he felt warm lips against his own. A tiny moan, no deeper than a sigh, escaped Dwight’s lips and tickled the back of Ross’ throat. Ross’ tongue gently and tentatively drew across the seem of Dwight’s mouth, asking for entry. Dwight swayed and drew back.

“We should go to my tent,” he whispered, a shiver running through his limbs. “I have my own tent,” he felt the need to reiterate. “You should wait--I’ll go first, then you can follow. If we go together, they’ll suspect.” 

Ross huffed out a little laugh. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to be careful.”

Dwight took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself enough to walk in a straight line. “Alright. I’m going to go. Wait a few seconds, then come after me. If anyone asks, you need me to look at a scar, or--something.”

Ross laughed heartily at that. “You go. I will be there soon. Breathe, Dwight.”

“Yes. Breathe. Right,” Dwight said, nodding. 

He took a deep breath, then turned to head for his tent. He kept his eyes on the ground, thankful that the camp seemed to be relatively quiet. He threw open the flap of his tent and let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. His stomach felt knotted up with nerves. For a moment, he contemplated taking a tonic to help himself relax.

But there was no reason to be nervous, was there? It was just Ross. And he. And he and Ross. Touching mouths… touching… _Jesus_ , Dwight wasn’t going to survive this. A part of him yearned for this, this _thing_ that he’d been too afraid to even put a name to. That Ross might yearn for it too, well, that only made Dwight’s insides do cartwheels. And the other part, the part that always screamed ‘No!’ whenever he’d try to reach for something he had wanted too much, that part only paralyzed him with fear.

He thought it might be a worthwhile activity to remind himself of all the things he liked about Ross, while he waited. Well, there was his face, of course, which he had strived to hard to preserve. And in that face, his smile, as bright as a thousand suns. His voice, the way it soothed over Dwight’s ravaged nerves when he had been on edge, the way it could instill fear in the hearts of their opponents. His strength, of body and of character. That stubborn streak that drove Dwight to the brink of madness. The way he made Dwight laugh. The way his own neck vibrated when he laughed. His _neck_ , that long, sinuous instrument that Dwight had wanted so much to press his lips to. Then down to his chest… But he was getting distracted! His honor! Yes, his honor as a gentleman and as a soldier. His honesty, that seemed at times as blunt as a hammer. The way Ross always said what he thought and took what he wanted. And, it had turned out, by some miracle, he wanted _Dwight_. 

But where the devil was he! How long would those seconds last? An eternity to the one waiting. Should he undress? But no, that would remove the pleasure of having Ross do it for him. He could take his boots off, at least. Surely that would be acceptable. He sat at the end of his cot and leaned over, grasping the heel of his boot and tugging. That was one off. The packed earth was cold under his bare foot, and it made him shiver. He pulled off the left boot, and then stood to put them in the corner. He wasn’t a savage, he could at least keep things neat. He untucked his shirt from his trousers and let his sleeves down. He shook his hands out. Where _was_ he? Dwight’s heart hammered away in his chest until he thought it might burst out of his ribs and take flight. 

After what felt to Dwight like a century, the tent flap opened and Ross Poldark slipped inside, deftly tying the tent flaps together behind him.

“You took your time,” Dwight chided, despite his more generous intentions.

“Believe me, only from overabundance of caution,” Ross turned towards him, “not for any want of desire.”

In the dimly lit tent, Ross’ eyes kindled with a demonic flame and Dwight considered crossing himself. Still, he was a man of science. He knew better than most that the man before him was flesh and blood.

“You… took off your shoes,” Ross pointed out with a smile, taking a few sure steps towards Dwight, who shook like a leaf from head to toe.

“My… feet were warm,” Dwight replied, rallying himself.

Ross’ arms slid around Dwight’s torso, solid and warm and entirely irresistible. “Mmm,” Ross exhaled against his ear. “Is the rest of you warm, Dwight?”

Dwight shivered despite himself. “Well now it is,” he replied. 

“Perhaps, there’s something I can do to alleviate that,” Ross’ voice dribbled like honey into Dwight’s ear. He was about to protest that he very much doubted that Ross can do anything to make him feel _less_ warm, but was forestalled by Ross pulling off his shirt, followed only too swiftly by Ross’ own shirt. Both articles of clothing fell like autumn leaves at their feet and Dwight shivered. “Now you seem cold,” Ross whispered, his lips tickling Dwight’s earlobe, then brushing down the side of his face, small kisses peppering the outline of his jaw. “Looks like it’s time to warm you up again.”

Dwight turned his head and caught Ross’ lips with his own, this time parting his mouth and pressing forward until his own tongue slid wetly against Ross’. He was through with being teased and toyed with, and Dwight pressed forward, gently chewing Ross’ lower lip with his teeth even as his own arms clung to his infuriating friend’s back and his fingers dug into the tightly coiled muscles there.

“Fuck!” Ross choked out, coming up for air, then attacking Dwight with renewed vigor, his lips skating over his lips, his chin, down the cords of Dwight’s neck. “God, Dwight, you’re so beautiful,” Ross’ words scalded the tender skin between Dwight’s collarbones. “Like a bloody angel, I swear.”

Dwight’s head spun. He swayed on his feet. He was vaguely aware of his erection straining against the confines of his breeches. In a moment of clarity, he grabbed a fistful of Ross’ hair and tugged his head up and sideways before diving in to press sucking kisses all over his neck. Ross cried out softly as Dwight’s lips, teeth, and tongue ravaged him, and when Dwight’s mouth sealed over his pulse point and sucked _hard_ , his knees buckled. Dwight caught him, pulling his hand out of those dark curls and instead holding Ross up by his ass. The air left Dwight’s chest hard as he felt the bulge in Ross’ trousers slide against his own. 

“Need you naked,” Dwight murmured between kisses. “Now.”

Ross laughed, high and breathy, and wrapped his arms around Dwight’s trim waist. “Why, Doctor Enys, that’s very forward of you.” 

Dwight used his hold on Ross to spin them until Ross’ back was to the little cot. It wouldn’t be terribly luxurious, but it was better than fucking behind a bush. With a little push, Ross toppled back and laid himself out on the thin mattress. In a second, Dwight was on him, straddling his hips and covering Ross’ chest with his. Dwight kissed him over and over, savoring the plushness of those lips, tasting the breath that they passed between them. Ross’ hands roamed over the broad pale expanse of Dwight’s back, tracing the muscles and lines. They came to rest on Dwight’s hips, applying pressure to coax him into rocking back and forth. Dwight groaned as he slid his hips against Ross’, throwing his head back and letting his eyes flutter shut. 

“Dwight,” Ross breathed, looking up at that angelic face, the pale arch of his throat, the lightness of his eyelashes against his skin. “You are heaven itself, come down to earth.”

The blush returned to his cheeks, spreading down his chest and flooding that fair skin with color. “Ross,” he whimpered, “I’ve never--”

“Shh,” Ross replied, his palms smoothing over his hips as though he were gentling a horse. “You’re safe with me.”

Dwight nodded, his eyes still closed. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I believe I am.”

“Look at me, Dwight,” Ross purred. Dwight whimpered as he fought to open his eyes, training them on Ross. There was so much gravity there, so much weight pulling on him as he met Ross’ eyes. It made him feel as though they were an anchor in his chest, dragging him down to drown in the man beneath him. Ross moved his hands from Dwight’s hips to the button front of his trousers, and as he set to work opening them, Dwight squirmed and fought back little noises of anticipation. “Easy, love,” Ross murmured. “May I touch you?” 

Dwight let out a high whine through his nose and nodded. “Please!”

And then Ross’ hand was in his trousers, pressing against the bulge in his linens, stroking his fingers up its length and feeling how the tip made the cloth ever so slightly damp. “Is there no way in which you are not perfect?” he breathed. 

“Ross, please,” Dwight gasped. “Please, I don’t want it to be over so soon. I know that if you keep touching me in such a way, it will be. Let me--let me give you pleasure instead.”

Before Ross could protest, Dwight had moved off of him to open his trousers and tug them off. He set them aside, and before he could overthink things, he dove back in and pulled Ross’ cock free from his linens. Ross was hard and heavy in his hand, and Dwight’s mouth watered at the sight. 

“Must we fight over this too,” Ross muttered with a sly grin, “like Orestes and Pylades before the sacrificial altar? We can both derive pleasure from this, my angel.” His hand stroked and twisted along Dwight’s throbbing cock, sending a coil of lightning up his spine. 

“Show me?” Dwight pressed closer, wrapping his arms around Ross’ shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“Beautiful boy,” Ross whispered, shifting his hips and taking them both into his hand. That alone drew a cry from Dwight’s throat, which he muffled against Ross’ shoulder. Ross turned his face to kiss Dwight’s fair hair, which was now tousled and slick with sweat. Dwight couldn’t stand the waiting, so he rocked his hips forward, pushing into Ross’ grip, sliding against his swollen cock that burned hot against Dwight’s own. “There,” Ross squeezed through his teeth, “come on.” His thumb curled over Dwight’s cockhead, teasing against the slit, making him sink his teeth into the tight cords of Ross’ tendons. For a moment, Ross unfurled his fist, making Dwight keen from the loss of contact, but it had only been to spit into his own palm before he went back to palming both their lengths together with sure, powerful strokes.

“Ross, oh god!” Dwight panted into Ross’ opened mouth, his vision going hazy with the onslaught of lust. “I’m gonna finish!”

“God yes!” Ross’ free hand tangled up in Dwight’s hair, pulling their faces closer. “Come on, then. Want to see you. Want to see you fall apart.”

Dwight’s fingers tightened around the grooves of Ross’ ribs, his toes curled, and the slow pulse of pleasure began to unfurl from somewhere deep within his belly, rising, rising, like the phoenix from its ashes. “Ross!” That name, that name burned his lips like blasphemy, even as Ross swallowed his moan before it could become any louder, while Dwight spasmed in his grip and spilled all over his fist and both their pulsing cocks. As he shivered, his muscles overstimulated with the power of his orgasm, Ross stroked his hair with his free hand, still working himself towards the finish. 

“Dwight, look at me,” Ross gasped, curls plastered to his face with sweat as he looked up at Dwight’s sated, half-lucid expression. “I’m so close...watch me come, just for you.”

Dwight let out a helpless little cry, opening his eyes to look down at Ross’ flushed face. His hair spread beneath his head on the pillow like a black halo. Truly, he must have been a fallen angel, one of the host that followed Lucifer to his demise. And now he was dragging Dwight down with him. If only Dwight had the presence of mind to not desire the flame, to reject the wickedness and snares of the devil and all that. Problem was, he was enjoying it too much. He gasped, just the slightest intake of air, as he felt Ross tuck his cock in the space underneath Dwight’s balls, felt it slide against the crevice of his ass, velvety and thick, and just rest there--

And then a moment later, Ross hissed in through his teeth and bit back a cry, his brows knit as he watched Dwight’s flushed face radiating with awe and desire, his cock spurting all over Dwight’s ass.

Dwight allowed his elbows to buckle and he collapsed on top of Ross, slowly unclenching his thighs from around his friend’s narrow hips. Their chests rose and fell like waves in a turbulent ocean, as they attempted to come down from their mutual height.

“That was..,” Dwight murmured, “surprisingly athletic for a man in your condition.”

“I was taking it easy,” Ross chuckled. “Per my doctor’s orders,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Dwight’s tousled hair.

“I’ll have to monitor you more closely,” Dwight purred, letting his lips and tongue lazily trail over Ross’ perspiring neck.

“I would submit to that examination,” Ross grinned, his hand smoothing down Dwight’s back and resting over the curve of his ass. “On a nightly basis.”

Dwight laughed at that. “Ross, we’re at _war_!”

“You’re right, angel,” Ross retorted, without missing a beat, “better make it twice a day then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like the Thing? If you also ship the Thing, come talk to us on Tumblr: [ElDiablito](jadedbirch.tumblr.com) and [PoeFaraday](babystormpilot.tumblr.com)!


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